An Uncomfortable Truth
by Ashinan
Summary: L comes to a sudden realization after another tense encounter with Light. A tribute to the story, Abyssal Heart. See inside for details.


**WARNING: **This has NO PLOT. It is merely a small look at the metacognitive ramblings of L. I **repeat**: NO PLOT.

**Ashinan**: So, my wonderful friend _dancinginbloodiedshoes _refuses to get her own account. And, because of this, she has made my life complicated. For, you see, she wrote this delightful tribute to a scene in _Abyssal Heart._ And, because she refuses the account or any other ways to post her workings, I am posting it on my account. **And since she was sick yesterday (and I posted it without her knowledge), I had to re-write a few things, so here's the complete, finished copy**! Now, a word from her!

**Dancing**: Yes, I am unaware this is unoriginal and has NO PLOT (see above ranting). But, this chapter inspired me, as I am sure it did many of you other readers as well. It just struck me as the perfect avenues to pick at L's twisted mind, and idiot that I am, I tried to rapture it in writing. I think I did an okay job. Believe me, this is not an announcement of career change. But peruse it if you will. Or don't. It makes little difference in the end. I wrote this for Ashinan, and for myself. If you have any thoughts, by all means share them in as constructive a way as possible. If you don't have any thoughts, I'm afraid I can't help you. Please enjoy (and review if you wish) the musings of L.

**Ashinan**: All right, people's. Let us begin!

* * *

**Inevitably Yours, Damnit!**

Stockholm's Syndrome. The delusional and unhealthy feelings of attachment and affection that arise in a victim when they are forced to interact frequently with their captor. Perfect. A simple dictionary definition that served up every one of the symptoms on a tarnished silver platter. The problem with this, L mused irritably, was that is was supposed to be the captive that held these feelings, not the captor. But hold them he did. And unlike his usual display of apprehension and disgust of all things tactile and inanimate, this he clenched in his pale, spidery hands.

He was unable to let it, or Light, go.

From the very beginning the boy had fascinated him. He had infuriated him as well. For as flawless as Light Yagami appeared, perhaps because of it, he was the perfect Kira.

L began to pace back and forth across the plush carpeting of their room.

All the evidence, every particle of intuition and genius that L possessed, pointed straight at the beautiful, and just possibly homicidal, university student. So why did he find himself watching him at odd moments of the day? Why couldn't he stop himself from admiring Light's unconsciously graceful movements in the play of the laptop's blue light? Why did this single, impossibly perfect boy affect him so unduly? It was beyond his comprehension! And nothing should be beyond L's (as Light-kun had once caustically declared) "the three greatest detective's in the entire fucking world" comprehension.

But damn it all to Hell, Light refused to be categorized.

At first, L had merely assumed him to be an arrogant, sheltered, if incontrovertibly brilliant boy. But Light Yagami had proven to be so much more. He challenged L, in things that he had never thought could be contested.

He attracted him.

Like Icarus had been drawn to the sun's scorching light, so too was L dragged after the chain of his own creation, caught up in the wake of the breathtaking, russet eyed, deadly boy. And he could feel his wings melting, drawing him down to spiral to his death, staring at the golden glow even as he plunged. For, like Icarus, he had merely wanted to touch that forbidden radiance, to be close to its glory, if only for a moment.

L chuckled derisively under his breath. Well, he was close now; close enough to touch, to cling to that lethal perfection.

He turned to watch the rain. Nature's tears ran down the windowpane, refracting the lights of Tokyo into dazzling prisms of colour. Images, events of today's earlier activities ran in an endless loop through his brilliant mind; fragmenting and jumbling like the motions on a badly scrambled security video. But L was not called a genius for nothing. He picked out important subtleties from his memories; just as he had once spotted Raye Penbar's final, desperate glance at his killer on a subway surveillance tape.

Light's hand grasping his upper arm, spinning him around to face him for the umpteenth time; Light's lovely eyes, the chocolate brown muddied with confusion and frustration, and anger. Mustn't forget the anger. Light's body, pressing close against his own, melding his lithe frame to the fragile detective's. Light's lips…Dear God, his lips. Did the boy have to be perfect at everything? Not that L had been complaining, incidentally. He shuddered at the very memory. The soft, coaxing pressure of his mouth against L's, those long articulate fingers tangled in his hair, the breathy moan of pleasure, barely suppressed. L's illicit little gasp of surprise as Light's very talented, and presumably honey-coated tongue had sliced across the seam of his mouth, demanding entry, expecting it…

L swore.

Why did this affect him so much? Yagami was a suspect. Nothing more. But, he _was_ more. He was L's friend. L had been willing to withstand Misa merely to spend time with him. But that had not gone at all as planned. He had planned to be apathetic. He had planned to merely be an annoyance on Misa's little "date"; an aspect of personality he had perfected. But he had not planned on the slow burn of something he only later identified as jealousy in the pit of his stomach, as Misa had poured herself over his suspect, his Light, like some sort of cloying chocolate syrup.

But he could not allow his illicit affections for Light to interfere with his investigation.

He_ would not._

Which was why he had broken free. At least physically. But, embarrassed at his own reactions to the advances of the younger boy, he had attempted to "make up" by bringing him his dinner. Unfortunately, Light was already asleep by the time he had cautiously opened the door to their shared bedroom.

Unable to help himself, L had placed the tray of food on the table, and padded softly, bare foot as ever, over to the bed. He really was gorgeous, L had mused bitterly. Chestnut hair, perfect even in sleep (L swore this, if nothing else, was a mystery he would solve before Light left him), gleamed dully in the imposed twilight of the room and his fascinating, breathtaking eyes lay closed. As if of their own free will, ivory hands crept forward to sweep down Light's cheek, and circle precariously over the slight grey shadows that had formed due to being chained to an insomniac for the better part of two months. L had felt a slight twinge of guilt, he remembered. He had put those there. He had caused those signs of strain on Light-kun. Bending to place a gentle, despairing kiss on the latently schizophrenic boy's forehead, L had left the room.

Now here he stood, forehead pressed against the glass, musing and mulling over useless conceptions when he should be trying to locate Kira. Because then he could clear Light-kun's name (and Misa's) and release himself from this hated chain.

At this thought, a wrenching pain flooded his body in the general vicinity of his heart. Light would be able to leave. Leave L. _Why did that notion hurt so very, very much_? he wondered as he clutched his cotton shirt convulsively. He should be ecstatic (as ecstatic as he ever was). But the thought of his Light leaving him, alone in this world of rape and murder and harsh, unfeeling computer screens, made a searing agony erupt in the center of L's chest and radiate outward, so that he nearly collapsed to the floor, sobbing. In fact, though he barely noticed, drops of liquid leaked form the corners of his dark eyes, tracking down his cheeks in hopeless trails. Why? His highly efficient neurons began firing at top speed for the answer, sorting and discarding possible explanations. And because of their effectiveness, he got one rather too quickly for his liking.

He swore he heard his brain murmur, "Duh Ryuuzaki," in a voice disturbingly similar to Light-kun's. Jealousy, attraction, undeniable affection, and a supremely unhealthy amount of lust. Add it up, you emotionally handicapped dunce, and there is only one explanation.

He loved him.

He loved his prime suspect. His only suspect. For as surely as his name was _not_ Ryuuga Hideki, Light was, or had once been, Kira.

L loved Kira. The greatest and most untraceable serial killer in history.

"God _damnit_!"

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**Ashinan**: Anyone that can identify where this scene came from gets a cookie! I thank you all for reading Dancing's tribute, and I hope you will be kind and **REVIEW**! Remember, this is the girl that cracks the whip. She alone is the reason I am fixated on finishing **Abyssal Heart**! So, show her some love, and maybe, just _maybe_, she will write something more for you, and my newest chapter will be up sooner ((winks)).

Again, I apologize for deleting the story and re-posting it. I thank you for your understanding.


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